


In Time, We'll Heal

by everidite



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: And stealing food because she can, F/M, Formal event, Hawke complaining about the existence of corsets, Post-Act 2, Rivalmance, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Varric being a true bro as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 00:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18789685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everidite/pseuds/everidite
Summary: Having a banquet thrown in her honor as the new Champion of Kirkwall means nothing if she can't even bring herself to approach a certain elven warrior who has turned her world upside-down.





	In Time, We'll Heal

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this fic a year ago, but then took it down because I wasn't satisfied with how some of the dialogues turned out. But hey, I'm finally confident enough to share this now!
> 
> I got the inspiration after playing Mark of the Assassin DLC which supposedly takes place after Hawke is crowned as the Champion of Kirkwall where Varric mentions at the beginning that there was a banquet thrown in celebration where Hawke met Duke Prosper for the first time. Which means, the banquet was held soon after the end of Act 2, so Hawke hasn't reconciled with Fenris yet. Thus, unresolved romantic tension. Oh, the drama.

Maker, she was  _bored._

Not that the entire evening was completely dull. Having a banquet thrown in honor to her recent entitlement as the Champion of Kirkwall and attended by elites across Kirkwall as well as guests from neighboring nations was, actually, quite flattering.

Glittering jewels and finery lightened up the Grand Hall at Viscount's Keep where the banquet was being held. The very same place where the late Viscount Dumar had been brutally slaughtered by the Arishok, ironically.

But enough gruesome thoughts, Hawke thought, resolving not to torment herself further by pondering about murders in what was supposed to be a joyful celebration.

And the  _food_ , Maker, she couldn't even begin with the food. A number of delicious lavish cuisines and delicacies was served at the event you'd be having difficulties for which one to try first; be it the traditional Free Marches choices of fish dishes and egg pies, to Orlesian black cherries in cream or Antivan crab cakes.

But Hawke could only bear so much small talk with the nobles—many of them, if she remembered correctly, had never even bothered to acknowledge her properly when she had been a Ferelden refugee working odd jobs in order to survive poor life in Lowtown.

Her face was starting to cramp from the tedious smile she had to keep while listening to their senseless ramblings. She also had to suppress the urge to cringe every time they, more than one occasion, made not-so-subtle statements about how she would've been an ideal match for their sons.

Had everyone completely forgotten a tiny yet crucial detail that she was, in fact, an  _apostate?_ Funny how suddenly the controversial status was no longer a concern once you had saved a city from a horde of rampaging Qunari.

What was worse, her back was getting stiff from having to sit straight for hours in this bloody corset, when all she wanted more than anything in the world right now was to abandon all decorum and slump down her chair without the cursed piece of clothing limiting her every movement. Alas, Sebastian had made it  _specifically_ clear that she needed to dress 'in the proper manner' among polite company.

 _Hmph_. Cheap words from a man who had been fortunate enough never having to wear a corset in his entire life.

Okay, despite her inner complaints, Hawke had to admit that she actually liked the dress. Varric had sent over a seamstress to her place in order to tailor a dress made specifically to her preferences—made from deep red velvet that fell heavily to the floor, yet not too long so that she wouldn't embarrass herself by tripping and falling face-first in front of Knight Commander Meredith, for example. The rim of the fabric was trimmed with rich black linings and gold embroidery in swirling patterns, and the seamstress had been kind enough to find a matching necklace to adorn her neck and compliment her whole look.

Still could've done it without the corset, though.

At least the wine was good enough to ease out her growing crankiness. Plus, she could distribute her attention to other things she found entertaining: one example would be sneaking apple slices and crab cakes into her discreetly hidden dress pockets (one other thing that she liked the most about the dress because, come on,  _who_ didn't need pockets to save their lives).

Struggling to shove her cranky thoughts to the back of her mind, Hawke reluctantly returned her attention on her ongoing conversation with the extravagantly dressed Orlesian duke sitting to her left, who was, apparently, very much vocal about his favorite activities that involved wyvern-hunting.

"... it's currently held annually at my chateau, Champion—just by the western slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. Yes, Chateau Haine, the one that used to be a Grey Warden stronghold during the Fourth Blight." She heard the elderly duke speaking, heavy Orlesian accent rolled over each word as he explained the tradition in an enthusiastic vigor. "In fact, I'll be holding another hunt not one month from now. You should come by as a guest of honor! I'm sure that a wyvern is nothing to worry about compared to the mighty leader of the Qunari."

The corners of Hawke's lips twitched for the umpteenth time into what she desperately hoped as a polite smile and not a grimace. "That is very kind of you, Duke Prosper. But I'm afraid I have... little experience in hunting. I couldn't bear the thought of embarrassing a kind host such of yourself in front of your guests with my incapability."

Duke Prosper merely laughed. "My, my, a humble Champion indeed! Don't you worry, my dear. I'm sure you'll catch up in no time as soon as you are out in the hunting grounds. The views are also exquisitely beautiful! In fact, the hills just across the hunting ground once belonged to..."

She barely registered any more words that kept flowing out of the overly excited duke when out of the corner of her eyes she caught Varric, not a few feet away, striding over to her direction, seemingly enjoying himself being surrounded by giggling ladies who were gushing over him.

 _Perfect._ Here was her ticket out.

When Varric was close enough in hearing distance, Hawke offered a graceful nod at Duke Prosper and quickly cut in before she could hear another word about how 'majestic and beautiful creatures' wyverns are. "Pardon me, my Lord, for interrupting here, but I don't suppose you've met my friend Mr. Varric Tethras?"

She emphasized more volume in the last two words, and silently cheered when that caught the dwarf's attention. Their eyes met, and Hawke sent him a certain look in which she hoped for Varric catching the hidden meaning.

To her relief, Varric turned to his entourage of fans and bowed formally. "It's been a wonderful talk, ladies, but I'm afraid The Champion is in need of my assistance. Shall we continue this conversation later?"

He exchanged a few more words with them before finally striding towards Hawke. "The new Champion of Kirkwall! Enjoying the evening, Hawke?" Varric flashed her a grin, but Hawke knew better what he actually meant by that.

_Bored to the void and in need of your dwarven best friend to come to your rescue?_

Oh, how she really appreciated Varric's existence amidst Kirkwall's madness.

She smiled again, this time genuine. "Very much so, Varric. May I introduce you to Duke Prosper de Montfort of Orlais. He owns an impressive chateau by the Vimmark Mountains where he holds the annual... wyvern-hunting sport. Apparently a very popular event among Orlesian nobilities."

"A pleasure to meet you, Master Tethras," Duke Prosper greeted him with an acknowledging nod. "Your ongoing serial,  _Hard in Hightown_ , is quite popular among my friends. I've read the first few chapters myself, and may I say that it is very captivating? Poor old Guardsman Donnen, caught in a tangled web of mysteries just months before his retirement. Is it too much for me to ask for hints regarding the murderer on the loose?"

Varric bowed in retrospect. "Thank you for your compliments, Your Grace. As for the hints, I regret to tell you that they will have to wait until the next chapter comes out. But if you like Donnen, I'm sure you'll like what the next chapter has to offer."

"That is regretful indeed, but now I find myself in much greater anticipation! How about you, my dear Champion, has Master Tethras let slip even the tiniest detail of his brilliant plans?"

Hawke simply gave a polite, lighthearted chuckle proper to ladies with high status that would've made Sebastian proud. "Believe me, nothing could tempt Varric to give away his meticulously detailed plans regarding the plot. Not even I have the privilege." She turned to Varric and shot him another look.

_Help. Me._

He caught that at once and responded by giving a small, barely-even-there nod. "A writer never tells," he commented with a big smile. "But pardon me, Your Grace, if I may steal The Champion just for a moment? My fans from Antiva are waiting for us just around the corner, they have come a long way in hope to meet and congratulate The Champion personally and I don't have the heart to make them wait any longer," he proceeded to speak smoothly, while pulling at Hawke's seat for her to stand up.

"Ah, of course! How rude of me, sabotaging The Champion's precious time for myself." Duke Prosper then stood up and bowed. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, my dear Hawke. Do please consider visiting the hunt at Chateau Haine, yes? I'll send you a formal invitation later."

"The pleasure is mine, Duke Prosper. I look forward to it." Hawke curtsied, and soon she followed Varric who led her away to one corner of the Grand Hall where there were not so many people.

As soon as they were out of the watchful eyes and ears of the other guests, Hawke exhaled a long, loud sigh and slumped on the wall.

“Maker’s breath.” She blew a huff that made her bangs flipped upwards. “I promised myself that if I hear the word ‘beautiful’ and ‘wyvern’ used together in the same sentence once again, I may have to strangle him on the spot.”

Varric snickered and raised his hand to pat Hawke’s shoulder. “Hang in there, Hawke. You’ll only have to bear another hour of small talk and curtsying before the nobles scurry away to their home.”

A suppressed groan escaped her throat. “I’d take a blow from any Qunari rather than staying here any longer.” She brought her hands to her face and massaged the skin around her mouth. “My face hurts from maintaining this ‘happy-to-see-you’ charade for hours. I never thought smiling could hurt this much.”

“Aw, poor you. I believe you’re doing well so far. But, I  _also_ believe you owe a certain dwarf a gratitude.”

“Oh! Of course, how rude of me!” Hawke turned to face Varric and performed an over-exaggerated curtsy. “I owe you my life, Serah Tethras. What would I do without my sly, trusty dwarven friend with his silver tongue and the glorious chest hair?”

He laughed. “What can I say? I am but a humble gentleman to any maiden in distress.”

“You’re so sweet. Here, have a crab cake.”

She then pulled out a crab cake from her pocket and offered it to Varric. He merely looked at the crab cake on her outstretched hand, blinked, and looked up to meet her eyes again. Finally he barked a laugh.

“You're  _stealing_ food now, Hawke?”

“Now, now, Varric, I  _don’t_ steal. I merely indulge myself to take what was offered to me in the first place and bring it home as souvenirs.”

“Dear Maker, Choir Boy will snap if he finds out. I’m pretty sure that ‘stealing food is prohibited’ is somewhere on the list of formal event etiquette,” he commented, but nevertheless took the cake and hummed in amusement at the first bite.

“Oh, I’m fairly sure Sebastian is aware of the risks when he decided to teach proper etiquette to a Fereldan who grew up in a farm.” Hawke waved a dismissive hand. “By the way, where are the others? I haven’t seen them after being dragged around from one chattering guest to the other.”

“Well…” He put one hand under his chin. “I saw Sebastian moments ago, conversing with the other nobles in what seems like a painfully tedious talk. Aveline keeps herself busy the entire evening; she gathered up the guardsmen and makes sure they do their job before any deserted Qunari or Tal-Vashoths dive headfirst into the banquet. Isabela is… well, you know  _her_. Saw her surrounded by three ogling noblemen who have yet know what’s in store for them."

She snickered. "Oh, boy. Now _that_ would make an excellent story I'm eager to hear first thing in the morning."

"Maybe you are. Me? Not so much. Not with the first-hand experience having to listen to her escapades every time she decided to utilize the room right next to _mine_.  Sometimes I wonder if she just wanted to make me miserable." Varric shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, Merrill actually made new friends, I saw her socializing with the elven servants and she actually looks happy. I really hope they get along; that kid will be fine as long as she doesn’t bring up the ‘demons-are-your-friends’ thing. I also saw Anders speaking with Orsino… he doesn’t look too happy though.”

Varric stopped right there as if he had finished speaking. Hawke patiently waited, but the dwarf made no signs to continue other than finishing the last bite of his crab cake. He looked over at Hawke, a knowing smirk grew on his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The laughter in his voice was obvious. “Anything in particular you want to ask?”

She looked at him with a deadpan expression, feeling an sudden itch to scrub that annoying smug grin off his face. Ugh,  _fine_ , she’d bite into it.

“What about Fenris?” Hawke asked him, keeping her voice low.

He offered up an open palm under her nose, wiggling his fingers. “Crab cake.”

“Varric!” She rolled her eyes. “That is low!”

If anything, Varric's maddening grin was broadening. “No, it’s not, and I know you bring more stolen food with you. Would you prefer I ask for a sovereign, then?”

Clicking her tongue sharply, Hawke reluctantly obliged and handed him another crab cake, the last one she had with her. “I hate you, you know that?”

“Charming, Hawke.” Varric snickered and bit into the cake. “Mm, this stuff is really good! So, Fenris. I was a little surprised actually that you said you haven’t noticed him.”

“And why is that?”

“For starters, if looks could kill, you’d probably six-feet deep covered in the ashes of Free Marches noblemen right now.” He shrugged. “The entire evening he just spends his time brooding in the shadows and glowering at every noble who tried to grab your attention.”

Oh. She… didn’t expect that.

But then again, she had not dared to expect anything. Ever since that night; the  _one_ promising night where they had freely expressed their passion without any inhibitions nor jabbing words that secretly hid their feelings to one another—what would've had been a beautiful memory had shattered into pieces the moment he had turned his back and walked away from her, and she couldn’t allow herself for more false hopes.

No matter how her breath always hitched whenever he engaged her in a conversation. No matter how her heart fluttered whenever he stood so close to her. No matter how tempted she was to reach his hand and intertwine her fingers with his every time they unintentionally walked side by side in-between missions.

Varric observed Hawke’s face for a while and narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t spoken with him ever since?”

It snapped her out of her reverie. “Of course I have. He still comes to my house for reading lessons, remember? And how else do I ask him to tag along in missions?”

“Hawke.” His expression now softened into that of a sincere concern. “You know what I mean.”

“I…” She trailed off and folded her arms, casting her eyes down the floor. “He never mention it. And I don’t want to bring up the matter.”

“Andraste’s ass, I feel like babysitting two stubborn toddlers.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “You two  _clearly_ want each other. Don’t get me started on one of those many stolen glances in-between missions. Even Merrill noticed that,” he pointed out. “And has anyone told you how panicked he was when you suddenly collapsed not long after Meredith proclaimed you Champion? He practically lashed out at Isabela for causing the whole mess and threatened Anders if he failed to heal your injuries. Boy, and I thought that elf couldn’t get any scarier.”

Hawke mulled it over. She did remember faintly that someone had been calling her name, over and over, when she had lost consciousness after the duel with the Arishok. And when she'd finally regained consciousness, the first thing that had greeted her eyes was Fenris, sitting near the fireplace across her bed, deep in slumber.

In her hazy memories she wasn’t sure if she'd called out to him that time, or whether that had only been her imagination, as she'd once again slumbered into a deep sleep almost right after. The next time she knew she had opened her eyes to worrying gazes from her companions surrounding her bed.

“That… was Fenris?” she asked hesitatingly.

Varric nodded. “He obviously cares for you, Hawke. And you for him. Why haven’t you two found the time to sit down and talk about it?”

“The whole matter is… complicated,” Hawke said, her face grim, and let out an agitated sigh. “He was in pain, and afraid, and I was overwhelmed and confused… We aren’t friends to begin with.”

A sympathetic smile spread over Varric’s face. “I did ask you if you’re sure about him. But I’ll be a good friend here and refrain myself from saying anything that sounds like ‘I told you so’.”

She chuckled lightly. “You just did. Anyway, thanks, Varric.”

“Oh, cheer up, Hawke.” He patted her shoulder again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re lucky you can still talk to each other whenever you want. He's not shutting you off to this point, that's a good sign. In time, I’m sure you’ll find a way to resolve whatever this tension between you two and be done with it.”

"Oh, Varric. When did you become such a touchy person?”

“Honestly? I don’t know, but I’ll blame you.” His comment made her laugh, and Varric offered her a reassuring smile. “Go to him, Hawke. Last time I saw him sneaking out to the terrace on the far west, maybe he’s still there. In the meantime, I’ll go back to mingle and dig up some delicious elites scandals to use it for my book. You know where to find me.”

Hawke smiled at her best friend and gave his arm a gentle pressure. “Thanks again, Varric,” she said with sincere gratitude, and made her way crossing the Grand Hall straight towards the western terrace.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, Varric was right. She found Fenris at the terrace, standing there by himself, his back was facing her. Hawke observed him, noticing how his white hair had a beautiful bluish tint under the moonlight, and she silently appreciated how serene he appeared to be from where she stood.

Maybe she shouldn’t interrupt, she thought. She didn’t have to see his face to know that he was being deep in thought, and the last thing she wanted was to take this rare moment of peace away from him. She could wait. If Fenris wanted to be left alone tonight, she would give him the space he needed—

“Hawke?”

Her trail of thoughts stopped cold at the mention of her name. She couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her in reflex when Fenris turned around, scrutinizing her through his ever-alert green eyes. “What are you doing here?” Fenris asked, his tone somewhat surprised.

At least it was better than him sending her away. “I… need some air,” Hawke replied, giving him the half truth, allowing herself to take careful steps approaching him. “What are  _you_ doing here?”

At this, Fenris broke eye contact. “I don’t belong in there.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What? What makes you think like that?”

“I am an elf, Hawke. I don’t belong among fancy events like this,” he harshly said and darted his eyes back at her. “I don’t even know why you asked me to come.”

That particular comment, and the bitter tone he had used at her, actually made her heart pang. “Should I have  _not_ asked you to come?”

His jaw was rigid. “I just told you the reason."

“And a ridiculous one. If you didn’t want to come, you should’ve just said so.”

“As simple as that?” Fenris sneered. “Or would I have to beg for you to allow it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t pretend that I wouldn’t be disappointed if one of my companions refused to come to an event thrown in  _my_ honor.”

“Yes, yes, everything is always about you. Why am I not surprised?”

" _Fenris_."

"In fact, why don't you go back inside? I'm sure there are people who can't wait to give you all the attention you want."

“Maker’s breath,  _what_ is your problem?” Hawke finally snapped, slightly raising her voice. Her patience had been wearing thin to begin with, courtesy of the whole evening chatting up with pretentious nobilities, and she certainly did _not_ need this kind of selfish accusation coming from Fenris to top it all. “We aren’t exactly friends, yes, but I respect you and your wishes. In fact, if you wish to go home right now, be my guest. See if I try to stop you.”

He shot her a cold glare, both hands clenched into fists. In turn she met him with a challenging gaze, arms crossed.

After what felt like an eternity, Fenris exhaled a sigh and looked away.

“I don’t,” he said, lowering his voice, rather calmer than before. “I’m sorry, that was unworthy of me. Of course I’m glad you asked me to come.”

Hawke stared at him, noting how his stance gradually became more relaxed. “Then what is the problem?” she asked carefully, her voice slightly strained in her attempt to regain her cool after the earlier tension. “You’re clearly upset because of something.”

“I was…” Fenris paused for a moment, looking as if he was ready to continue, but chose to restrain himself at the end. “Nothing. It is not your concern.”

“Fenris…” She raised her hand and gently placed it on his shoulder. The simple gesture seemed to surprise both of them; Hawke for her boldness, and Fenris for the sudden direct contact. Nevertheless, he didn’t push her hand away, so she would take it as a good sign. “You can tell me.”

“It’s… foolish. I don’t wish to bother you any further.”

“What, was there some prickly noble making rude comments to your face? Because if so, I’d be more than glad to teach that person one or two things about messing with my companions. Just to remind them that the Champion  _is_ Fereldan and you don’t mess with people who were raised by mabaris and eat ogres for breakfast.”

She was surprised when out of sudden he chuckled. He  _chuckled._ Short enough but could still be counted as one, and as the effect her heart fluttered at an instant.

It felt like ages ago since she last heard him laugh to one of her dumb remarks, and each time the rare occasion had occurred it never failed to surprise her, including now. Even so, she was thankful that it eased the tension quite a bit.

“It’s nothing like that, Hawke, I assure you,” he responded, his mouth twitched into a barely-there smile.

“Then what is it?”

“I was… watching you the entire evening. When you were talking with the other guests, I mean,” he quickly added the latter. “I observed how desperate they were, fighting for your attention like hungry sharks among one prey. I remember some of their faces. Back then they treated you like dirt, mocking you behind your back. And now some of them shamelessly ask for your hand. Hypocrites.” He frowned. “Yet, it seems like you're enjoying the charade.”

Fenris was leaning against one of the pillars right now, his gaze far away at the distance, his expression unreadable. Yet despite everything he had said, Hawke only cared about one thing.

Varric was right. Fenris  _had_   _been_  watching her. The entire evening. And this confession came right from the man himself.  _Is he being jealous?_

Her eyes wandered off and landed upon his wrist. Ever since that night, he had kept something she had given to him: a red band he tied on his right wrist and continuously wore wherever he went. Even tonight, he showed up with the very same wristband, the red color bright in contrast to his tawny skin and black attire.

Truth to be told, Hawke wasn’t sure why Fenris would continue to wear her favor where everyone could see, where  _she_ could see. Surely he understood what implication it might give to other observing eyes? Was it truly possible that he still had lingering feelings for her, like what Varric and her other companions had pointed out?

It was difficult not to get her hopes soaring up. It was nearly impossible, with so much signs blatantly presented right in front of her eyes.

It was too much, that it also felt cruel.

But again, she was here to listen to Fenris, not to feed her own pathetic fantasies and wishful thinking. She quickly gathered herself and dismissed other irrelevant thoughts.

“Alright, one thing you should know, I was not enjoying it. At all,” Hawke emphasized the last two words. “Did you even see me escaping from a boring conversation with this awfully talkative Orlesian duke? I literally dragged Varric to tag along, you know.”

Fenris turned his head, dark eyebrows shot upwards. He looked genuinely intrigued. “No, I didn’t see that. Perhaps I was already out here by then,” he admitted. “So, you’re saying you did not enjoy the attention.”

“Is it really that surprising?” She walked to the pillar across Fenris and leaned against it, even though not quite so relaxed as he was because the tight corset binding her waist. “What’s more, I’m wearing a bloody corset under this thing for the longest time in my life, and just so you know, it’s very,  _very_ uncomfortable. Then there are these stuck-up nobles you just mentioned. And proper etiquette. And table manners. Put two and two together and it’s a perfect recipe for an endless crankiness.”

At the mention of 'corset', Hawke watched as Fenris’ eyes fell onto the area around her torso. They lingered for quite a while, maybe longer that what was appropriate, even after she’s finished speaking.

 _Maker’s mercy_ , she was going to blush as red as tomatoes if he kept this on.

Then, as if realizing what he was doing, Fenris blinked and looked up meet her eyes again. He cleared his throat, rather awkwardly. “I see.” His voice was uncharacteristically croaked. “If that is true, then I suppose you did well in hiding it.”

She scoffed. “Did I? If only you’ve seen me up and close, I’m pretty sure you’ll see how my mouth keeps twitching from maintaining the polite smile for Maker knows how long. I mentioned this to Varric before, I didn't know smiling could make my face hurt this much. And this coming from _me_ who have always used it against Meredith's condescending stare to Seneschal Bran's scowl.”

Fenris did not respond right away, his moss-green eyes studying her figure in silence. “It appears I have misjudged you again, Hawke,” he finally said, his tone solemn. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she responded with a small nod. Then, because it just crossed her mind, “You know, you really should work on that attitude, Fenris. This isn’t the first time you’re taking out your anger on me.”

She was expecting him to counter back with another argument, but surprisingly he didn’t. “I shall endeavor to control my temper better next time.”

“... Good.”

A comfortable silence fell upon them afterwards, each deep in their own wandering thoughts.

“So… anyway,” Hawke quipped in, in attempt to break the silence, “This banquet. What do you—”

“You look beautiful tonight.”

That took the words right out from her mouth.

Hawke blinked once, twice, feeling sure that she was sporting a rather dumb look at the moment. Of anything he could've said, she  _did not_ expect that. Meanwhile, Fenris were holding his eyes upon her, and she nearly lost her capability to speak at the sight.

A smile had emerged on his lips. Thin, but still there. Under the moonlight, that smile, combined with his beautiful green eyes and silvery hair, enhanced his handsome features into something almost other-worldly.

In Hawke’s position, it took all of her willpower to calm her nerves and keep her cool. She truly wished he had smiled more often.

Especially at her.

“Wh-I, uh…” she stammered uncharacteristically, “Well… thank you. I think it’s because of the dress. The dress is, um, really pretty.” She cringed inwardly, chiding herself for sounding like a bumpkin.

“It is,” he affirmed with a small nod, seemingly oblivious of her discreet nervousness, “But I don’t think I ever saw you in a dress before. Red suits you well.”

Another breath caught in her throat, and after counting inwardly for a few seconds until she was sure her rocketing heart rate had stabilized for a bit, Hawke managed to smile at him. “Thanks, Fenris," she said genuinely, then added tentatively, "You look good yourself."

He was quiet for only a second. Then, one corner of his mouth tugged, making his smile now became more prominent and resulting in her heart once again decided to skip a beat. "Thank you."

She nodded, feeling her cheeks getting warm, and before she could embarrass herself further she quickly said the first thing on her mind, “By the way, you like apples, right?”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. “I... do.” He eyed her quizzically. “What brings this up?”

Both of his eyebrows rose the next second Hawke slipped her hand into her pockets and pulled out the rest of apple slices she had sneaked in before. She crossed the distance between them and stopped just a few steps in front of him, one hand offering an apple slice.

“Here,” she said with an innocent grin.

Fenris stared back at her. “Hawke.”

“Hm?”

An amused expression crossed his face. “You’re stealing food from the banquet?”

“Why do everybody keep saying that?” She rolled her eyes. “They were offered to the guests in the first place and I simply bring some with me. It’s not stealing.”

“If you say so.”

“It is not!”

“Right.”

“Fine, so I _stole_ them. You want it or not?”

His smile was still there. “I never said I didn’t.” With that he took the apple slice from her hand and brought to his mouth to take a bite. "Thank you."

Hawke returned his smile and ate the other apple slice. “I actually had the crab cakes with me as well, too bad Varric ate them all,” she told him, and grunted. “That bastard, blackmailing me with food.”

“What did he blackmail you for?”

 _Oops_. “Oh, that. You know. For dragging me off the jabbering nobles.”

“I see.” He finished the last bite. “Well, I don’t suppose you got another one down your pockets?”

“Sadly, no. Would you like to go back inside and see if we can grab some more?”

"I think I'd like that.”

Fenris pulled himself into his feet, then turned his head at Hawke. He said nothing for a few seconds, but then he stepped closer, and held up an arm at her.

“Shall I escort you back inside, Champion?”

Hawke stared at his offered arm, and glanced back at Fenris, finding the small smile still present on his face, as he locked his eyes on her in silence, waiting for her response.

At least one thing that she was certain after tonight: their feelings stayed the same. The sparks were still there. And she would continue to cherish it, after seeing the evident possibility that he would do the same, until both of them are ready to step forward.

_Time will heal us._

She beamed up at him, and linked her arm with his.

"Lead the way, Serah."


End file.
